Exquisite Self Destruction
by AshesOfLauren
Summary: "Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction."
1. Tomorrow

" _Tomorrow I'm gonna leave here_

 _I'm gonna let you go and walk away_

 _Like every day I said I would_

 _And tomorrow I'm gonna listen_

 _To that voice of reason inside my head_

 _Telling me that we're no good"_

 _Tomorrow - Chris Young_

 **Tomorrow**

Nails bite into flesh too hard, gauging crescent shapes tinged with red into my hips, and I cry out. I'm so close to tipping over that razor sharp line from pleasure to pain, but the hands that hold me just grip tighter still. The room is filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin, labored breaths and moans, pleas and curses ringing through the night. The smell of sweat and come and alcohol is dizzying in its potency. The cock that pounds into me relentlessly is hard and angry, exactly like the man it belongs to; proud and stubborn and rough, too rough, _unbearably_ rough both on my body and my soul, yet still I open for him, crave him, beg him to fill me. _One last time_ , I think. Because this is it, this is the last time I'm going to let my body be used and abused, the last time I'm going to subject my heart and mind to the sweet poison of the other man's words, his promises and unintentional lies. As soon as we're through, I'm walking away.

I moan even as I wince when a hand wraps around my cock and begins tugging with urgency, matching the rapid slap of the hips against my arse and trying to force yet another orgasm out of me. It shouldn't be possible, not after coming twice already in less than an hour, but I can already feel that liquid heat like molten lava pooling in my core. My knees and back scream in protest from being rocked viciously on all fours for so long. The other hand lets go of my hip and lands in my hair, yanking my head back sharply. "You're going to come," he growls in my ear, and I whimper both from the threatening tone and the ache in my neck. "Do you understand me? You're going to fucking come. I'm going to make you fucking come. Stop fighting it. You can't resist me. You know you can't. You know what I can do to you, what I can do for you. Come." It's a demand, and I fight it even though every fiber of my being is programmed to obey, because I know it'll hurt in so many different ways. "Come!" And so I do, screaming as the fire rips through me and I coat the bed with hot, sticky, thick liquid, and it's so much more pain than pleasure.

Behind me, the panting turns into a guttural groan and his hips begin to stutter, the cock inside me stabbing my prostate at uncoordinated intervals and sending pain lancing through my overly-sensitized body. Finally, finally, I feel the hot pulse of come shoot inside me and the warm weight of a body slumping over mine as I sag into the mattress. We breathe heavily for several long minutes before he pulls out of my wrung out body and rolls off of me, settling on his back. I keep my face buried in the pillow, trying to avoid the eyes that break down all my defenses and barriers, but a hand snakes under my jaw and forces me to look. I see the shock and self-loathing flit across the man's face when he notices the tears pooling in my eyes. "I hurt you," he says, and it's not a question.

"I'm fine." The protest is weak even to my own ears as the tears spill over to run down my cheeks.

"I always hurt you," he says flatly, and there's really no denying it. Every second with him is pain in some way or another — usually in several ways at once.

The fucked up part is that every second without him is pain as well. I'm just not sure which one is worse.

I swallow hard as those eyes soften and hands gently swipe the tears from my cheeks. "I don't think we know how not to destroy each other," he murmurs, kissing one wet eye. "Maybe we can figure it out," he says even softer as he kisses the other.

I allow myself to be pulled into strong arms, relaxing and trusting fully within his embrace, and I ignore the insistent voice inside my head that's screaming at me that it'll never happen, that we're no good together, that we'll only ever bring one another tears and sorrow and misery. I know it's true, and I'll face it. I will.

Tomorrow.

" _We're like fire and gasoline_

 _I'm no good for you, you're no good for me_

 _We only bring each other tears and sorrow_

 _But tonight I'm gonna love you like there's no tomorrow"_


	2. Burning House

" _I had a dream about a burning house_

 _You were stuck inside, I couldn't get you out_

 _I lay beside you and pulled you close_

 _And the two of us went up in smoke"_

 _Burning House - Cam_

 **Burning House**

My eyes fly open as I shoot straight up in the bed with a gasp. My breaths are coming out as ragged panting, and the sheet is stuck to my sweat slicked body. I glance around the room frantically, trying to find an escape route as I reach out blindly for the body next to me. Only… There are no flames. There is only the first dull shafts of early morning sunlight filtering through the window hangings. I breathe in deeply through my nose. There's no smell of smoke. There's only the rich scent of the coffee brewing down the hall, whose timer is set to turn the pot on at five o'clock every morning.

I breathe out shakily through my mouth, trying to calm my racing heart. It was just a dream. A horribly fucking vivid dream - I can still feel the flames licking at my back - but a dream nonetheless. I look down at the man lying beside me. He'd stirred a bit when I'd flailed around the bed, causing the sheet that had been haphazardly thrown over his waist to slip halfway down his thighs, but he sleeps on soundly, so I take the opportunity to study him. Looking at him has a way of calming me even while it drives me into a frenzy. He has a way of dousing one fire raging within me by lighting another, but still, the sight of him centers me.

At least, it usually does. Right now though, his hips are littered with impressions of my own fingernails, each filled with dried blood. The entirety of both of his hips are bruised a sickly mix of yellow and blue. There are love bites in several places on his neck, though to call them "love bites" is almost laughable. It looks more like a vampire snuck in during the middle of the night and fed from him. I don't even want to imagine the damage to his arse.

Nausea roils in my gut. I went too far. I really hurt him. Again. I reach out and lightly trail my fingertips across the abused flesh, down his thigh and back up again. " _I don't think we know how not to destroy each other_ ," I'd said, and it's true. It always goes too far. _I_ always go too far.

There is a darkness inside of me. Of course there is. There always has been, I suppose, but now it seems it's all consuming. He says there's darkness in him as well, and I guess that's probably true. Yet the only time I catch even a glimpse of the light is when I'm with him. It's doused quickly, of course. Everything I touch turns to blackened ash, but I can't help myself. I'm weak. I crave that glimmer of hope that hangs before me when he's near.

I'd think myself selfish if I didn't know his need to destroy me as well. Not with his hands or his words. No, what he needs is to be someone's light. He craves validation that there is something good inside of him, that someone can see it, that someone needs it. And so he lets me take it, knowing that even as I consume him I just destroy myself a little further. In my quest for the light, I surrender further to the darkness.

We're trapped together in a burning house.

He rolls over in his sleep, trying to get comfortable, and his face screws up in pain, though he still doesn't wake. His hand smoothes along the bed, and I realize he's reaching for me. With a lump in my throat, I lay back down beside him. His searching hand finds my abdomen, and the furrow between his brows relaxes. Gently, I slide an arm under him and pull him close to my chest, holding him tightly against me. I bury my face in his hair and close my stinging eyes. We should have walked away from one another long ago, but it's too late for that now. It seems we're destined to go up in smoke together.

" _Maybe we can figure it out_ ," I'd said. I didn't believe it when I'd said it, and I don't think he really did either. But I have to try. I have to do something, because the thought of the fire consuming him along with me is unbearable.

I can't be the reason he burns.

" _I've been sleepwalking, been wandering all night_

 _Trying to take what's lost and broke and make it right_

 _I've been sleepwalking too close to the fire_

 _But it's the only place that I can hold you tight_

 _In this burning house"_


End file.
